


Roads Untraveled

by furyofthetimelords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furyofthetimelords/pseuds/furyofthetimelords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I trust you not to shoot me?” he asks.<br/>“If you don’t try to kill me,” she replies. The gun is still by her side, but she clicks the safety back on and holds out her hand.<br/>He shakes it. The skin-to-skin contact sends a thrill up her spine. It’s the first time she’s touched another person in a long time.<br/>"Deal," he says. </p><p>(an au somewhat inspired by 'The Road' by Cormac McCarthy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roads Untraveled

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this whole au ratting around in my head for ages and when I finally started writing it, the whole thing kind of got away from me and ended up being a lot longer than I expected. Whoops. Anyway, here it is. (also cross-posted to fanfiction.net). 
> 
> Title derived from the Linkin Park song of the same name, which you should 100% listen to while reading this fic (I realise I didn't mention this when I first posted it, but hey, the more you know).

There hadn't been a single day in her life when the smell of smoke wasn't in the air. That wasn't how it always was, but that was in the before, a time that seems almost magical to Clarke now.  Those were the days when the sky was blue, real food grew in the ground and everything wasn't dusted with ash and dirt. Back then, the world was alive.

It’s close to winter now; the sky is still grey as ever, a thick, unchanging blanket over the world. Sometimes it’s a little less grey than others. There used to be storms, howling winds and fire, things that lit up the sky in brilliant displays of colour and life.

Now, it’s like the sky has given up. It’s empty, just like the world. She can't be sure how many people are left now. Maybe she’s the last one left.

Clarke wishes it was the time before, the stories she’d heard growing up of a world where everything was in abundance. There was food; there was blue sky and trees that grew. Now there’s nothing but ash and dirt. But all the wishing in the world doesn’t make it go back. They sky just gets greyer and darker, deeper into this endless night.

 _The world is dying_ , her best friend Wells would say. _There’s nothing we can do._

But she makes a point not to think of him these days, especially not the last time she saw him lying face down in the dirt, blood pooling around his head like a parody of a halo. He was the last real persons she saw. Since then, she’s made a point not to go looking for other people. It’s been a long time since she’s seen much other than the endless grey hues of the world she lives in now. There was a fire the other week, but Clarke doesn’t think it counts because she ran like hell from it.

So when she hears something behind her, a resounding crack of a branch, she doesn't hesitate to pull her gun and hold it out, facing her opponent.

“Easy there, Princess,” her would-be attacker says just as she’s about to pull the trigger, making her stop short. His hands are up and he looks so relaxed and warm, olive skin and dark hair in stark contrast with the grey surrounding them. It makes Clarke feel even more conscious that she probably looks like a ghost.

“I’ll shoot,” she tells him, holding her gun tightly. Just because he hasn't tried to kill her yet doesn't mean he won't try the moment she lets her guard down.

“Well, I'm not here to kill you. Or whatever it is you think I might do. I’m just looking. Thought you were someone else, so I guess I should go.”

It pulls her up short. Who’s stupid enough to go looking for people in this world? Doesn't this guy know he’s probably going to get himself killed? But he doesn't look like the type to be that stupid. There’s something about him that screams danger. It makes her feel ready to waste one of her precious last five bullets on him.

“Why are you out here?” she asks.

“I told you. I’m looking for someone,” he replies, an edge to his voice.

“I don't believe that. You just want to kill me.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Princess, so you can stop aiming that at me.”

Against every instinct, she lowers her gun. “Who are you looking for?”

“My sister,” he says and for a moment, something flashes in his eyes, a desperate sadness that almost mirrors her own emotions about the loss of her best friend.

“Maybe I can help,” she finds herself saying. “I know this area.”

“Can I trust you not to shoot me?” he asks.

“If you don’t try to kill me,” she replies. The gun is still by her side, but she clicks the safety back on and holds out her hand.

He shakes it. The skin-to-skin contact sends a thrill up her spine. It’s the first time she’s touched another person in a long time.

“Deal,” he says. “My name’s Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“Well, Clarke, let’s hope we don’t regret this.”

* * *

 

Trusting Bellamy doesn't come easily. She’s just not used to having another person around. It makes her skittish, her hand automatically going to clutch her gun when she hears him make a sound. Once, she even ends up holding her gun to his chest. Bellamy just gives her the faintest of smiles in response.

“Good thing you’re paranoid, Princess,” he tells her shortly after the incident. It’s about then she decides she really does like him and not just because he’s another human. There’s just something about him.

The two of them don’t talk much, and Clarke’s okay with that. She’s not entirely sure she knows how to carry a conversation anymore and the company is enough. Ever since Wells died she thought she'd left that all behind. Avoiding people had been her priority for so long now and now she’s got someone else around her, it’s hard to fall back into old habits.

Bellamy seems okay with this situation, talking only when it’s necessary. Sometimes they go days without saying a single word to each other.

They stay in the forests, venturing deeper every day. Clarke knows every inch of this place, where the last of the birds used to nest, where the stream is at its clearest, the best spots hide and even the secret bunker with her supply of cans. It’s all there, but his sister isn’t.

Bellamy is determined not to give up. It may have been three months since he last saw her yet he’s still here, searching.

“We got separated after a gang attacked us. Came at us in the middle of the night and I told her to stay hidden, but she wasn't there when I got back. Someone had to have taken her.”

“We’ll find her,” she promises him, though she’s not sure if it’s something she can keep. The world out here is vast and impossible. Finding his sister may never happen, but it’s a risk she’s willing to take. There’s not much left in this world but at least there’s this.

* * *

 

A few weeks later and they've exhausted every in of the forest. Though he doesn't say much, Clarke can feel the growing tension, the way he stands a little more rigidly every time they come up with nothing. She wants to comfort him, to tell him that it’s going to be alright, that his sister has to turn up sometime, but she can’t find the right words.

“I think we need to go further. Take on the roads,” he tells her.

Clarke freezes up. There’s no way she’s going out on the roads. Out there, it’s too open. Anyone could be out there, all kinds of killers and savages too desperate to have let the apocalypse take them quietly.

People liked the highways; there was once something comforting about the asphalt that cut through the landscape. In some of her oldest memories, she remembers travelling along the roads. It’s where everyone was, travelling in large convoys, banded together out of desperation. But then the days got darker and the food less and less and soon there was almost no one left at all. They faded out one by one, like ghosts—here one day and gone the next.

Now the roads can only mean danger. It’s pretty much certain death for her out there. No matter how bad it gets here, there’s something for her here. A certain kind of safety in her isolation.

“I can’t go,” she tells him, not looking him in the eye. Clarke doesn't want to have to face his disappointment.

“Why not?” he asks her. “Afraid to leave your castle, Princess?”

He’s hurt now, all sharp edges and teeth. She hates herself for tell him no. More than anything, she wants to go and find his sister, but she can’t bring herself to leave. Here is home. It’s all she has left. 

 “The last time I left my best friend died.”

He doesn't reply in words, just puts a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t stay here forever.”

She shakes her head. How can she get him to understand? The words stick in her throat. She’s so tired of losing everything and losing him, especially after she’s come to rely on his company. It would be unbearable, like losing Wells all over again.

“We don’t know what’s out there,” she tells him.

“Everywhere is dangerous now, Princess. Get used to it.”

“I don’t want to lose anything else,” she says, meaning the forest. Meaning him.

“Look, I need someone to watch my back out there and even with the number of times you've pulled a gun on me, I trust you.”

She feels like she’s tearing in two. Part of her wants to leave, to tell Bellamy exactly what he wants to hear, but it’s drowned out by the part of her that doesn’t want to go. Leaving means she'll lose this place and maybe even losing Bellamy too with nothing in the end. Staying means she’s at least got her home. The path with the least risk.

“I can’t go.” Finally, she looks up at him. His eyes are hard.

“Fine, go stay a coward,” he says and turns to leave.

She thinks it’s the last time she'll ever see him again.

* * *

 

The road stretches out ahead of her, a black path that cuts through the landscape, reaching all the way to the horizon and beyond. Clarke’s heart pounds in her chest. There is no way she’s doing this. No way is she just going out there.

But here she is, right on the edge of everything she’s come to know. It’s been a week since she’s seen Bellamy and she regrets not leaving with him. Time and time again, she turns, expecting him to be right there, standing silently with his eyes on her. It’s little things like that which remind her of how much of a mistake she’s made, turning her back on the only friendly person left in this world.

She has to find him, somehow. With a ratty backpack and her gun, Clarke sets off.

* * *

 

He’s bitter about her staying behind. The days in the forest had been some of the best since he'd lost Octavia, the quiet peacefulness of having someone else there. Someone he could rely on.

It was a strange thing to have and even stranger that she trusted him at all. Most other people would've tried to kill him, but despite the number of times she’d pulled a gun on him, he never really got hurt.

The first day he’d seen her, he’d thought she was Octavia and he'd approached her, not realising until nearly the last minute that it couldn't have been his sister. By then, it was too late and he couldn't just leave. So he’d stuck it out, praying that this encounter wasn't with some feral cannibal chick. But it was just Clarke, someone so unexpectedly human in this non-human world he found himself wondering more often than not if she was actually real.

People like that didn't just exist anymore. There was no room for kindness or humanity and Bellamy knew it better than most. The things he’d done out here on the roads, out in this world would be damn unforgivable in the old world. He'd heard the stories, the way people used to get thrown into prison all the time for things so much less than what he’s done in the name of survival.

Its times like that when he’s glad there’s no going back. The world has ended and if he’s going to ride out his last years, he wants to do it without giving up, especially not before finding Octavia.

He still hasn't found a single trace of her, like every trace of her existence vanished the moment she disappeared.

 _Maybe she’s gone for good and you left for nothing_ , a voice in his head whispers. He tries to push it away, to not think about the possibility his sister might be gone. There is no way he’s going to give up until he has answers. Even if it’s bad, at least he won't feel this desperate feeling of not knowing.

He’s not sure where he is now, but the scenery has changed. There’s more than just the odd house. It’s borderline town. Bellamy curses. Out of all the stupid things he could have done, this is probably one of the worst. Civilisation means trouble.

It could be anything this time, any kind of horror story they told in the time before come to life, the monsters made flesh. He’s reminded of Iowa again, of the mutilated people kept in the darkness screaming and crying, people he thought needed help until he realised they were the monsters, driven to the edges of desperation.

There are voices out there, loud and raucous, people with nothing to hide because they know they’re the most dangerous thing out there. Bellamy tightens his hold on his makeshift knife. Whatever’s out there, he’s not going to go down easy.

As much as he wants to avoid conflict, there’s no avoiding these people. The only way out is through, as they say. He walks right along the road, sticking to the centre. The men sit in the middle, laughing and talking with each other as a fire burns.

“What’s a kid like you doing out here?” one of the largest men there asks. There’s a certain kind of glimmer in his eyes, one that makes Bellamy feel like he’s being sized up for a meal. There’s a long, sharp knife in his hand. A hunting knife, Bellamy thinks.

“I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Well you're here now, aren't you?” The rest of the group are sitting there, glaring up at Bellamy. Many of them are missing fingers, some half an arm with grizzly stumps. He tries not to think about what happened to those limbs.

“I’m leaving.”

“Stay, we're having a feast,” the man says, a vicious smile on his face. He clutches the knife tighter, knuckles paler than the ash.

“I think not,” Bellamy says. If they had all their limbs, Bellamy isn't sure he could take them all on, especially in a fight like this. It’s one of the few times he’s glad he chose to scavenge.

The men close in, but as soon as their leader gets close, a loud _crack_ echoes and suddenly there’s a spray of red and a hole appears between his eyes. The rest of the group turns, looking for the threat, but they can't see anyone. It’s been a long time since anyone’s used a gun.

Bellamy feels a certain kind of hope lodged in his chest, but he pushes it away. It’s too foolish to think.

Another of the men start to move closer, obviously not deterred by the gunshots. He’s fat, or he probably would've been a long time ago. His skin sags and stretches in strange places, though he’s probably no older than thirty. It’s a sick parody of what he once was.

But then he’s gone too, a spray of red shattering his skull. It’s messier than the last one, this shot sending chunks of gore in every direction. A little even lands on Bellamy.

Before the last three men can move away, the gun goes off again and one by one, they fall. Blood sprays up and pools around the men like halos.

“Are you okay?” a voice calls out and his heart sinks.

“I'm fine now,” he calls out. “But I'll feel better once I know who to thank.”

“Okay,” the voice replies. He hears the sound of wheels on asphalt and he turns to face his saviour. It’s a girl, maybe no older than Clarke, looking at him with hard brown eyes. But what’s surprising is she’s in a wheelchair. Her legs are like twigs, even skinnier than the rest of her.

Bellamy can't hide his shock. He stares at her, unable to quite believe it.

“Yeah, I know. Not exactly the best thing for the apocalypse, but hey, it works.”

 This girl is nothing like he expected. “Are you going to kill me?” he asks flatly.

“Not today,” she says with a shake of her head. “I've been looking for a way to kill those bastards.”

“You're a good shot.”

“A perk,” she says, looking down at her legs. “Kinda makes it necessary to get good.”

“You had bullets. Not something I expected to see.”

“I guess I'm just a surprise.” If they weren't standing in a field of corpses, Bellamy would swear she was flirting with him.

“You've done well on your own.”

“I wasn't always on my own. Or like this.” The stranger gestures to her legs.

“Well, thanks and all, but I should be on my way. I have people I need to find.”

“People?” she asks, curiously. “I've been looking for people too.”

“I haven't seen many of them, if that’s what you're asking. Probably no one you're looking for.”

Despite having his life saved by her, Bellamy isn't sure where he stands. He’s not sure if he’s willing to trust someone this dangerous. There’s still a good chance she’s just waiting to blow his head off.

“I wasn't asking,” she replies. “I know you probably don’t trust me and hey, why would you? Not like I just saved your life.”

“I don't know you.” He replies.

“It’s not like you can know anyone these days. I won’t kill you.”

“I don't want to help you.”

“Once again, I wasn't asking. I just thought I’d do you a favour.”

Now he’s suspicious.

“I didn't ask for it.”

The girl smiles, all teeth. “I like you. Makes me glad you weren't one of them.”

Bellamy doesn’t reply. He’s eager to leave this place, this newly created graveyard. He doesn't want to spend another moment in the presence of these men, even if they are cadavers.

“I need to go.”

“Not even a thank you? Wow, you're nice.”

“I never said I was. I can't stay here.”

“Don’t blame you. They were awful men. Good luck with finding whoever you’re looking for.” She tells him, suddenly spinning her chair and disappearing down a side street. He doesn't get how she does it, able to navigate with ease in her chair that should drag her down.

It’s only after she’s gone he realises he never caught her name.

* * *

 

The first thing Clarke notices is the bodies. The smell is awful, like nothing she’s ever smelled before. Dried blood halos the corpses, staining the ground around it. There are insects here, buzzing around the bodies. It’s the most alive sound she’s heard in a long time.

The scene is like something out a nightmare, the bodies splayed at odd angles, like they'd simply been tipped over. It’s hard to distinguish what happened, but it looks like each man was shot.

“Two whole people in one week? It must be party,” a voice says from behind her, cutting through her thoughts.

Before she knows what she’s done, Clarke is in shooting stance, gun pointed out at the stranger before her.

However, when her mind catches up with her body’s actions, Clarke almost drops the gun out of surprise. In front of her is a girl in a wheelchair, looking up at Clarke with her dark brown eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” Clarke demands, clutching her gun tightly.

“Wow, you’re nice,” the stranger comments. “Are you with the other guy? He was rude too.”

“Who?” Clarke says, suddenly desperate. The answers feel so close, like they're just there in her reach and all she needs to do is jump. She lowers the gun. Tries to relax.

“Some tall guy; didn't even say thanks when I saved his ass,” the stranger says, shaking her head.

“Did you know where he was going?”

“So, you're the one he’s looking for.”

“Something like that,” she replies.

The stranger shrugs. “If you say so,” she says. “I don't know where he was headed though. Walked that way and didn't come back. In fact, I was just getting used to having this place all by myself when you showed up.”

Clarke looks down at the bodies, realising what must have went down. “You killed them,” she says, looking down at the mutilated bodies. It’s easy to see most of the damage had been done pre-death, missing fingers and limbs with scarred stumps mapping out a story of desperation. She shudders.

“They weren't very nice,” the stranger comments. “I did the world a favour.”

Clarke just nods. This kind of violence isn't something she wants to remember or see. It’s almost like a twisted parody of Wells’ death. Bile rises up in her through and she wonders if she’s going to vomit.

“I need to go,” she finds herself saying. “I have to find him.”

“I didn't shoot him. Should've, but I only had five. If I'd known, I might’ve bought six, knowing how rude he was.”

“You planned this?” Clarke says, unable to comprehend it.

“Yeah,” the stranger says with a shrug. “I don't like cannibals. They tried to eat me.”

“These ones?”

“No, but they might've if they'd seen me.”

Clarke nods, but she doesn't understand it. Killing, in her mind, has always been a practical thing—a necessary task in order to survive, not a thing you deliberately seek out to do.

“Thanks for telling me that—?” she asks, leaving the question hanging.

“Raven. Call me Raven.”

“Clarke,” she replies.

“Well, Clarke, I hope you find that asshole and tell him that he should be more grateful.”

“I’ll do one better. I’ll bring him here,” Clarke promises.

Raven smiles. “About time someone around here started being nice.”

The two say goodbye and Clarke feels like she’s got something of an ally. The feeling is strange and entirely unexpected. Two people in one world? It's almost a miracle.

She wonders if there’s any way the laws of the universe would allow for just one more.

* * *

 

Bellamy finds her in the middle of winter. It’s been days since he last had something to eat and he knows he find something, _anything_ or he’s not going to make it much longer. Day by day, he covers less and less ground, feeling weaker with every mile covered.

But then, the miracle happens and she’s there, standing right in front of him before throwing her arms around him. He can’t believe it. All of this time, this walking for miles and miles on end, searching with no answers and now she’s here.

Octavia is back.

“I’m here,” she tells him, smiling.

“What happened?” he as to ask.

“I … I left. I had to.” She’s looking down now, not meeting his eyes. He watches her, taking in every detail. It’s strange, but she looks better than she did before, less of a ghost and more of a human being.

“What do you mean, left?”

“There was nothing else I could do.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Don’t you remember Iowa? Out there, you nearly died because of me. I couldn't let that happen again. I had to leave, find my own way.”

He frowns. “You should've told me.”

“I didn't know how,” she says. “But I'm okay now.”

He’s angry. How could she do this? Leave him here alone and frightened, thinking she was taken? He wants to yell, scream or something, but he can't find the strength. Everything is exhausting.

“Hey – Bell no don't …” she says, but he can barely hear her now before the world fades to black.

* * *

 

He wakes up in a cabin. It’s strange, being in a space with a roof. A fire crackles in the corner, a sound that sets him on edge.

“He’s awake,” a voice calls and he looks up to see a man there, someone perhaps his age with dark skin and even darker eyes, which are fixed on him.

Octavia comes barrelling through the door. “Bellamy!” she calls out, smiling.

It’s about then the anger comes back, her betrayal that meant he wasted all those months searching for someone who didn't really want to be found. He sits up quickly, pushing back the wave of dizziness when he’s upright.

“What am I doing here?” he demands. “And who the hell is that?”

“That’s Lincoln,” she tells him. “And you were sick, Bell. He helped you.”

“I didn’t need you damn help,” he spits out. Though he has to admit he does feel better than he did before.

Octavia looks hurt. Lincoln moves beside her and places a hand on her arm.

“I didn't think you'd run after me. I thought you'd be happy I was gone,” she tells him simply.

“Why would that happen?”

“I saw how angry you were. I just thought it was better I left before you really got killed.”

He sighs. “I didn't want you gone.”

“I wanted to go.”

Then, silence. He’s not sure how to deal with it. Before, it was just him and Octavia, the two of them against the world. Now, he’s not sure what to do. They can't go back, he knows that, but what’s left for him in this new life of hers isn't clear.

Lincoln gets up quietly and leaves, whispering something to Octavia before he goes.

“Look,” she begins. “I did what I had to, okay? Lincoln just found me along the way. I didn't intend for it to happen.”

“The two of you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her.  

“That and not being alone, I thought I was going to wander off by myself forever. Maybe I’d see you again, but it wouldn't have been for long. I was angry.”

“I thought you’d been taken.”

“I thought it’d make you back off if you thought I was gone for good,” she admits, not looking at him.

“Like that would ever happen,” he snaps. “I wouldn't just leave you. You're my sister, not a ball and chain.”

“It felt like it,” she says and takes deep breath. “I just had to get out and find a way on my own. You were already beating yourself up to try and keep me safe it was suffocating.”

“Anything could've happened.”

“But it didn’t. I found Lincoln and I have a life here now.”

“So I guess I should just get out? Leave you two lovebirds to yourselves.”

“I’d still like to see you, Bellamy. I just don’t need you breathing down my neck all the time.”

He takes a deep breath and finds himself wishing, not for the first time, the Clarke was here. There was something comforting about having her there in those weeks. It was the first moment of peace he'd felt in a long time.

But she’s gone; he left her behind in that forest of ash. The strangest kind of sanctuary he’d ever found himself in and he walked away without a second though. And all for what? Octavia was happier on her own. He’d one all of this for nothing.

“I should go,” he tells her.

“Don’t leave, Bell.”

“I have to. You've got your life. I should leave you to it. Maybe I’ll see you again one day.”

She sighs. “Don't be a stranger, please.”

He nods, unable to refuse her this final request. As much as he hates her, she’s still his sister and he’d do anything for her. Just not stay.

He gets up to leave, but Octavia holds his arm.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“What?”

“Who you’re leaving for,” she clarifies, looking at him expectantly.

“Someone I left behind.”

* * *

 

They meet again in the middle of the road. At first, Clarke isn't sure he’s real. There’s no way another miracle could happen. But there he is, as real at the day she first saw him.

“Didn't think you’d leave your tower, Princess,” he tells her, a smile on his face.

Clarke smiles back. She wants so much to touch him, to pull him close and never let go, but she’s not sure how to reach out.

“I should've come with you,” she tells him. “It was a mistake to stay behind.”

He shakes his head. “Don't apologise for that. Besides, you're here now.”

“Did you find anything?” she asks.

“I found her,” he replies.

“Did she…?”

“No, she’s alive. Octavia just decided she didn't want to be taken care of anymore.”

“So she just left?” Clarke asks, frowning. It doesn't really make sense to her.

“Pretty much,” he says. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

He reaches out, touching her cheek softly. Clarke leans into the touch. Suddenly, the world feels a whole lot less grey than it did before.

“I missed you,” she tells him and barely takes a step closer. They're face to face now, but the only point of contact is hand on her cheek. Bravely, she moves closer and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.

The moment their lips meet the world feels like it’s waking up. Her heart beats erratically in her chest and she can’t quite believe it, that this is real and happening. Bellamy moves his hand from her cheek and too her waist, pulling her closer. For a blissful moment, all there is in the world is this kiss.

When the break apart, they’re both smiling; Clarke feels like her face is going to stay that way forever. It’s the first time she’s felt truly happy in weeks.

“So, where to now?” he asks her.

“Onwards,” she tells him, threading her fingers through his own. Something like hope unfurls in her chest. No matter what happens now, at least she has him.

Overhead, a small patch of blue appears in the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> I also clearly have a thing for open ends. Oh well. Anyway, if you enjoyed it, let me know. I'd like to hear your thoughts.


End file.
